


this be the verse

by ODed_on_jingle_jangle



Series: snakes to a mongoose [5]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arguing, Bad Parenting, Broken Families, Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Hospitals, Major Character Injury, Passive-aggression, Relationship Study, Season/Series 02, Strained Relationships, Swearing, Waiting Rooms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 07:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19204825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ODed_on_jingle_jangle/pseuds/ODed_on_jingle_jangle
Summary: That boy is his mother’s son and it’s not like this is any kind of new discovery, but it is like seeing things in reverse. When Gladys was gone, she almost wasn’t, because FP would always see her in Jug whether he wanted to or not. And now it’s backwards and he’s seeing Jug through her. Seeing the mannerisms that have become so familiar as Jug's right where they begin, before they were inherited or unknowingly lifted.It is neither a comforting observation nor a daunting one.





	this be the verse

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo like, the previous part was supposed to be the last part. And then like, some nice person mentioned I should maybe do like, a Betty/Jughead reunion. And I was thinking like, yeah, that makes a lot of sense, doesn't it? I should totally do that. That would be a very natural conclusion, right? 
> 
> This isn't that. I will write that, this, uh, just happened first. Didn't really plan it, but I'm having fun toying with different perspectives in this collection. I haven't used the same PoV twice thus far, and I don't plan to. Which is one of the reasons why it's a collection of one-shots and not like, a multichapter fic. Also a collection, because again, there's...not really a story here, lmao. It's just a lot of introspective, dialogue-heavy canon divergence because I like whump and assorted morbid things. 
> 
> Uh, just to be clear, this isn't really a ship fic. It's not really Fladys, or whatever ppl call it. I mean, maybe there's some romantic undertones but it's gen focused, for sure. Ain't got no time for that ship war nonsense in my house.
> 
>  
> 
>   
> ~~Glalice is hotter anyway.~~  
> 

FP had thought that the scary part was over. Not the hard part, because his kid is gonna be in for the long haul as far as recovery goes and there’s gonna be bills, and then the social repercussions of everything that went down. The hard part was on the horizon but the scary part was supposed to be over.

FP already went through carrying his son’s unresponsive deadweight, scarcely able to keep a grip on him, he was so slippery with blood. His own heart nearly stopped during the resuscitation, the sight of which must’ve shaved ten years off his life, at the least. There was the emergency surgery where he was updated all of twice, the eternity in between where he was left to hold his breath in a plastic chair while the blood dried on his clothes and in rusty rings around his fingernails.

That was the scary part and it was supposed to be over, except it’s not, because the results of Jughead’s CT scan are not good. This lab coat FP can feel looking down on him like he’s gum stuck to the sidewalk explains that the tear in Jughead’s spleen is worse. The tear is wider and his blood pressure is lower. He’s bleeding more inside, bleeding too much inside, and the conservative approach isn’t enough anymore.

It has to come out. Jughead has to go under the knife again, and this time it isn’t to repair vessels or screw shattered bones back together, it’s to remove a fucking organ.

The news hits FP like a truck and plunges him right back to the moment he stepped into the woods to witness his worst nightmare brought to life. Fear forms a fist around his gut and clenches until he’s gagging on it. He can’t spit a single question past its sour taste. There’s a million of them too, fraught, frantic questions that race through his mind at breakneck speed.

Gladys does though, energy crackling as she demands to know of risks, timeframes, outcomes. And all FP can do is watch her, the exact words of her questions and the unsatisfying replies they receive faded out and far away. He’s watching her as animated as ever, shoulders bouncing, hands waving in quick, furious movements; and he is transfixed because God, if Jug doesn’t move just like her.

That boy is his mother’s son and it’s not like this is any kind of new discovery, but it is like seeing things in reverse. When Gladys took off, most of her ghosts were left in Jughead. In the way he carried himself, or the way he curled his lip, or the way he could say something so insightful and cutting at the same time, that FP wasn’t sure whether to scoff or shiver.

When Gladys was gone, she almost wasn’t, because FP would always see her in Jug whether he wanted to or not. And now it’s backwards and he’s seeing Jug through her. Seeing the mannerisms that have become so familiar as Jug's right where they begin, before they were inherited or unknowingly innocently lifted. It is neither a comforting observation nor a daunting one.

It is simply the only thing FP can focus on as the world spins and the bottom drops out.

* * *

There isn’t anyone else in this particular waiting area and FP wonders if they’re going to hash it out. He’d rather not do it here, but neither of them could even think of leaving and Gladys keeps glaring like she wants to tear his throat out. She’s currently raging at the vending machine in his stead, cursing through her teeth and pounding her knuckles against it much harder than a probably stale bag of chips should call for.

It’s not his place to tell her to stop. If it puts off the inevitable showdown then that’s fine with FP. He has his own piece to say, or shout, more likely, but he’s not sure if he has the stamina for it right now. The whole thing has taken him off his pins and all he can do is stare at the flecks in the floor tile and try not to imagine the worst. Hunch over, fold his hands, count the flecks as they wait out the infinity that drags from minute to minute.

Eventually Gladys smashes a boot against the side of the vending machine and FP hears the light crunch of a package dropping to the bottom of the port. She doesn’t even grab it. He glances up from the flecks to watch her deflate, wilting toward the vending machine until her forehead kisses the dirty plastic paneling.

“His fucking spleen, Forsythe,” she gasps so low he almost doesn’t catch it.

“I know.”

“How did this happen?”

FP wets his lips, at a loss. “I dunno. They said it was, uh, a low-grade rupture or something when he got admitted, so they were just gonna keep an eye on it. I didn’t think—“

“That’s not what I mean,” she huffs as she pulls away, frustratedly whipping her hat off and shaking her hair out.

“I told you about the riots when I called,” he mutters, sizing her up carefully and thinking that they’re going to hash it out after all.

FP isn’t in the mood and this isn’t the time or place, but if Gladys drags it out of him, then so be it.

“Why the hell is Jughead a Serpent?” she demands, gaze steeling.

“What difference does it make at this point, huh?” FP straightens, drops his hands onto his knees. “He’s here no matter what I tell you, under the knife no matter what my answer is.”

And Gladys tosses her hands like he does, helplessly, paces back and forth in a restless, anxious stride.

“We were supposed to keep the kids out of this life. It’s one thing if _you_ make a buck dumping a teenager’s body,

(FP irresistibly winces)

or if you catch _me_ on the corner selling rocks. But if we do that shit, it’s supposed to be so _they_ don’t have to!”

“I know!” he snaps, a beast of guilt and ire rattling against the cage of his ribs. “Look, I tried to talk him out of it! I practically begged him not to repeat our mistakes, but hell if he listens to even half the things I tell him!”

Gladys gnaws her lip, shakes a fist like she might hit the vending machine again. There are people peeking in here now, a couple of staff dithering warily. FP makes an effort to calm down and watches Gladys do the same. Neither of them can afford to get kicked out.

“You should’ve tried harder,” she asserts and the level snowstorm in her voice is worse than the yelling.

“I don’t know,” FP admits. “Riverdale isn’t as safe as it used to be. He was so determined to join the Serpents anyway, a part of me hoped it’d give him some protection.”

“Protection,” Gladys scoffs like it’s a bad pun, throwing her hands skyward. “You gotta be fucking kidding me! He almost got himself killed specifically because he joined up. You were supposed to keep him out of that life, FP.”

“I couldn’t have, no matter how much I wanted to.”

“Oh? And how’s that, now?”

“Because he is just like you!” FP exclaims, snapping to a stand and cutting the gap between them. “He is stubborn as all hell and breaking my heart is his new favorite pastime!”

She flounders, stands her ground but silently. Taken aback.

“God, Gladys,” FP heaves in exasperation. “Jug walks like you, he talks like you, he’s smart the way you’re smart. If anybody could’ve talked some sense into him, it would’ve been you. Doesn’t listen to a damn word I say, but you? He might’ve heard you out. But we’ll never know, ‘cause you weren’t around.”

The words land right where he wants them to, FP watches it in the wobble of his wayward wife of a sort’s lower lip. He sees the sting in her eyes and he presses on, because he’s stung too. She’s sprinkled salt in all his wounds and he’s aching something fierce for a drink, and taking it out on her just might be the next best thing.

“You left us high and dry. This is just as much on you as it is on me. Hell, maybe more! I was still behind bars when he first started sniffing around the Serpents’ den, what’s your excuse?”

He watches that land too, takes some bitter satisfaction in the jerk of the shoulders that’s the closest he’s going to get to a flinch from Gladys. She holds his stare with something hurt and doesn’t cough up some excuse that on any other day, he might’ve expected prime and oiled. With that, FP draws back and snatches the abandoned bag of chips from the vending machine’s take-out port.

He deflates like a slashed tire, all the air coming out in a rush. Drops back into the chair and fumbles with the bag without actually opening it. To his surprise, Gladys takes the seat next to him.

“I don’t regret leaving.”

FP regards her warily.

“I should’ve taken Jughead with us though.” She leans over and plucks the bag from his hands, plastic crinkling noisily.

“You know you weren’t playing Mother Theresa off in Toledo and so do I.” He narrows his eyes in a pointed glower.

“Never said I was. Now I’m not sitting here brandishing any halo, but at least JB’s got all her organs intact,” Gladys snipes, nailing FP like a dart striking the heart of the target board.

It’s not like he expected any less. Gladys always gives as good as she gets. She pops the bag open and the salty, greasy scent of potato chips floats up between them. It is a welcome change from the sharp scent of hospital grade antiseptic, even if FP doesn’t particularly have an appetite.

“I had more than one chance,” she admits without prompting. “He called me, wanting to come down. I turned him away.”

The guilt drags in her voice like a loose bike chain and FP feels contradictory urges to comfort her and spit it back in her face. He does neither. He only asks,

“Why?”

And Gladys shrugs, paws her hand into the bag and pops a couple chips into her mouth.

“Part of me was still hoping you’d get your shit together if he was here. Something to motivate you to pull yourself out of the muck.”

And FP could tell her that maybe it would’ve worked, had the mess with (of) Jason Blossom never happened. Had Jughead actually stuck around instead of preferring homelessness to the trailer at that point, a choice FP could never, ever blame him for.

“That the only reason?” he asks instead.

“No,” she answers, meeting his eye with a look that confirms his suspicions.

Jughead was feeling cold earlier, before the CT and all that. Mentioned it offhandedly like he hadn’t even meant to, which he probably hadn’t. Always stoic, that kid. So FP covered him with his jacket and Gladys did the same, and he noticed it wasn’t the quite jacket he remembered. Black leather less faded, less worn. Hissing snake coiled around a capital ’T’ for Toledo, instead of double-headed in a threatening Southside 'S.’

“I had some business I didn’t want him around for,” she continues with a brief glance around to make sure no townies are lurking in earshot.

FP gives a curt nod. “Any of that business gonna help us pay for this?”

Gladys hesitates.

“This is his second surgery, none of this is gonna be cheap.” FP runs his hand through his hair.

“I know,” Gladys says. Her fingers twitch tentatively toward his and FP isn’t sure whether he’s disappointed or relieved when they stop short as she evidently decides better of holding his hand. She stuffs hers back into the bag of chips instead.

“Not a dime?” he pries, hoping that they can get ahead of this before it has disastrous results.

The meager insurance policy Jug’s on has a cap and they very well could kick him out before he’s ready if it reaches that. The Serpents as an entity have been devastated and they’re lying low and licking their wounds. It's not the time to hit other members up for cash.

“Not from that particular business,” she chooses her words carefully. “But I know I’ll be able to get it when we need it.”

FP blows out a sigh and bows his head. He can believe in that. When he and Gladys were a set, they always got what they needed for the kids. No matter what. Maybe they’re not— eh, no maybe about it, really —they’re never going to be what they once were, but they can still trust each other in this sense. They’ll always be better at getting what they need together. Even as the ways they get it become so ugly, they get further and further away from what more they might’ve been once, when they could’ve looked at each other through eyes that weren’t jaded.

“Good,” he breathes. “Nobody’s approached me about any bills yet, but I know they’re coming.”

Gladys bobs her head and munches on another small handful of chips. She always was a big eater but it’s just uncanny to watch when his own stomach is doing backflips. FP hears the soft buzz of her phone vibrating in her pocket. She only blinks instead of checking it.

“Probably JB,” she hums as she catches him glance. “She’s been antsy. Wants to see Jug.”

“Does she know he’s, uh…?” FP’s voice falters, as he is irrevocably reminded that a second scary part snuck up on him when he’d spent all of five minutes finally feeling like things were going to be fine.

“No,” she says quickly. “I know— We know he’s gonna be fine. But I want to wait until after he is to say something to JB. If I tell her he’s in surgery, she’s gonna hotwire your motorcycle and fly up here like a speed demon.”

FP snorts and cracks a shaky smile.

“She’s a lot like you,” Gladys adds.

“I don’t know. With her looks, I’m still not a hundred percent sure she’s mine,” he quips, earning a light slug in the shoulder from Gladys's crumb-smattered fist.

“She’s yours all right! She’s scrappy like you, y’know? She sure as hell drives me nuts like you do…but she loves like you, too. With her whole heart.”

Caught off guard by the naked sentiment, FP nearly gapes.

“Hurts herself sometimes, loving that hard,” Gladys continues, expression softening as she leans forward and props her chin in her hand. “Just like her dad.”

FP exhales slowly. “If she comes up, she’s gonna have to be gentle with him.”

“Oh, she will. You know she will, ‘cause he taught her how.”

“He did.” FP nods up and down, his chest nearly bursting with warmth.

Jughead was a good brother to her growing up. Always, always gentle. Never pulled her hair or pushed her in the dirt. Never picked on her, held her hand when she got scared. Teased her, sure, all siblings do. Never even got close to bullying her though. Might’ve had his fun with pranks that made her laugh, but never played one that could've made her cry. Nah, he treated his little sister like a treasure, precious and grand.

It broke Jug almost as bad as it broke him when Gladys took Jellybean away. And FP almost tells her this, the words teeter on the edge of his teeth, because venom that potent might be what it takes to get a flinch out of his unyielding, stoic current-wife-ex-lover. Might be the kind of barb too sharp for her to swallow, and he’d watch her try anyway, and maybe he’d even relish in seeing it catch.

Instead he earnestly says,

“We have good kids.”

“We do,” she murmurs and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say her eyes were getting misty. “We’ve fucked up a lot of shit, but we have some damn good kids. It amazes me how good they are.”

“We don’t deserve ‘em,” FP chuckles, shaking his head.

“Not at all,” she huffs, blinking rapidly and sitting back. “I cherish every minute with them, even when they’re doing stupid shit n’ turning my hair gray.”

“Here, here,” FP agrees, although he doesn’t have a drink to toast with.

Gladys holds out the crinkly yellow bag. “Want some chips?”

“I’m set.”

She takes the bag back and reaches in, mouth quirking as FP hears her nails scratch the bottom of the flimsy material.

“There's only crumbs left anyway.”

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who don't know, yes, you can live without a spleen. And like, even if you get your main spleen chopped out, you're not necessarily asplenic. Some people have tiny spleens that do some of your big spleen's work when it's gone. Or like, a chunk of healthy spleen will be leftover and act similarly, still doing all that fun spleen stuff it did when it was still apart of the main spleen. They can't do everything the big spleen does, but still.
> 
> Oh, and the title is from Philip Larkin. What a gift he was, may he rest in peace. 
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Slightly bummed I went with het!Jughead for this collection, if only 'cause aro/ace/asplenic has a ring to it, kinda. Triple A, if you will. Ahaha, I crack myself up.~~


End file.
